


Rise from the Ashes

by indirectkissesiniceland



Series: Mysterion Trilogy [3]
Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Betrayal, Character Death, Cthulhu Mythos, Cult of Cthulhu, Final Battle, Friendship, Global Warming, Heroic Sacrifice, Immortality, M/M, POV Alternating, Saving the World, Team as Family, Vigilantism, Weddings, all of the finale tropes, all of them - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-25 12:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7532551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indirectkissesiniceland/pseuds/indirectkissesiniceland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Immortality is a curse, an infinite cycle of dying and wondering if this time it will be permanent. An infinite cycle of burdening loved ones. But to be immortal must mean that one's life has a greater purpose, some universe-altering destiny. There must be a reason for this curse. </p><p>For months, Kenny took up the mantle of Mysterion, desperately seeking his purpose while using his power to help others. He hung up his cloak after the attention Mysterion received put his loved ones at risk, but came out of retirement to help save the world from monsters of ancient prophecy. Now he is finished with vigilantism for good. That is, until an even greater evil rises from the depths of the earth. A dark lord of legend. An immortal that can only be destroyed by another immortal.</p><p>**New chapters start up again June 2018!**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_You can't have him._

That thought had echoed in Kenny's mind every day for years. He did it to himself. He wouldn't listen to the little voice in his head. He'd make it worse. Matching Kyle's pace when they all walked to lunch to ensure a seat next to him. Taking every opportunity to touch him, to poke him or elbow him or tug on his hat. Reveling in the rare occasion when they were sharing secrets or talking about Cartman behind his back right in front of him, cupping his hand around the shell of Kyle's ear and leaning tortuously close to whisper to him.

 _You can't have him._ Because Kyle didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve to get dragged down into the shitshow of immortality, the endless cycle of cruel and unusual deaths that the universe stockpiled for Kenny. He didn't want Kyle to have to see him die over and over again, to worry if this time his eyes weren't going to open again. Or, worse, for one of the freak accidents that followed Kenny around to take Kyle out in the process.

It didn't change the fact that Kenny liked the sound of Kyle's voice, could—and did—sit and listen to him talk for hours. Or that he had to remind himself that constant eye contact was creepy, that no matter how much he liked the particular deep shade of brown of Kyle's eyes, he had to let his attention flicker away from time to time. Or that closer was always,  _always_ better, even when the ache of want settled into his bones. Taking Kyle's side over Cartman's regardless of what they were fighting about, winning that smug smile. Telling a dirty joke that made him laugh. Offering a hand when climbing through the woods, the mountains, and having Kyle take it. Everything was better when Kyle was within reach.

At first he could tell himself that it didn't matter if he were immortal anyway, because Kyle wasn't interested in guys. But he _was_ , and he confided in Stan and Kenny first. Even before his parents. _Can't have him, can't have him,_ Kenny told himself, except the heart was quicker than the mind. The heart was crouching tiger, hidden dragon. The heart said,  _Yes, you can._

That was the trade-off. The heart was faster, but the brain was stronger. The heart said it was possible, but the brain reminded him why it wasn't. He makes you happy. He'll see you die. He makes you want to be better, believe you can be better. He'll have to watch your blood trickle back up into your body, watch your splintered bones reconnect. You love him. You'll lose him. The brain had broken his heart and held his tongue for years. Every time he died, it made his brain stronger. Proved its point.

Yet here they were.

Kenny lay on his side studying Kyle's profile in the dark. Moonlight and distant city lights trickling in through the blinds on the window illuminated his outline, and Kenny's eyes, adjusted, made up the rest. Kyle's eyelids fluttering with deep sleep, auburn lashes turned blue in the shadows. Gentle breathing in and out, chest rising and falling in slow motion. Kenny took care not to wake him, not to shift. Kyle was a light sleeper; he'd sit bolt upright and murmur, "Kenny?" All the slur and slowness of the sleep that abandoned him at a moment's notice.

It didn't matter that Kyle was interested in guys, was interested in him. It didn't matter that he knew Kenny was cursed, a magnet and repellent for death wrapped into one body. That curse was the undercurrent of everything, the bane of Kenny's existence. Kyle had seen him die now, had seen him come back. Knew it could happen again. Was frightened that it would.

Mysterion was retired once and for all. Yes, he'd broken that promise on New Year's, but that had been a special case. Craig had needed backup. And, Jesus, Craig was the only other person on the planet with a curse that could go toe-to-toe with Kenny's. Seeing him shooting those lasers while mutant guinea pigs charged him? No, thank you. Kenny had thought Craig's eyeballs were going to melt right out of their sockets.

But the odds of more of that uproar were low, Kenny figured. As much as Cartman kept trying to make 'Coon and Friends' a thing, it wasn't hard to ignore him. The only person who might've been talked into it was Leo, and when Cartman decided that a villain character like Professor Chaos couldn't be part of an Avengers/Justice League-esque team, he burned that bridge. The look on Leo's face was enough to solidify any lingering reservations the group had about turning down Cartman's stupid idea.

No. No more crime-fighting. No more capes and masks. After seeing those Peruvian monsters, Kenny was coming around to Craig's way of thinking. It was way better to live a quiet life with Kyle than to run around as a makeshift superhero without a purpose. Finish the semester, graduate, get a full-time job, a better job. Get Karen through school. Be co-best man with Kyle at Stan's wedding, at the insistence of both bride and groom. Think too much about being at a wedding with Kyle, wearing tuxes and indulging in a glass too many of champagne.

Kyle made a soft sound like a hum and shifted, his fingers flexing in his sleep. Searching. Kenny shifted closer, tilting his head down while Kyle's fingers found his collarbone and curved around his neck. There was no strength in his sleeping movements, but the weight of the universe was in the whorls of Kyle's fingerprints. Getting out of South Park, going to school, growing up. Growing old.

_You can't have him._

His brain still whispered. His brain still fought his heart on everything. 

 _You can_ , his heart would whisper, conjuring an image of sitting with Kyle on the front porch of a modest home. Their home. Sitting in rocking chairs, white-haired and wrinkled, but happy. With decades and decades of smiles and kisses and nights like this one, wrapped up in each other and infinity.

 _You can't_ , his brain would remind him, sinking its fangs into the image. Of Kenny trapped in a body that healed every wound and reversed every accident, while Kyle grew older and older. Of Kyle getting sick. Of Kyle getting forgetful. Of Kyle slipping away in his sleep. Of Kenny trying over and over to follow him only to wake up again in his bed. Never allowed to sleep. Never allowed to end.

Kenny swallowed the lump in his throat. Kyle's digital alarm clock read 3:06 A.M., the lime green numbers blaring out from where the clock rested on Kyle's nightstand. The sharp lines of the six flickered into a seven and blurred in front of Kenny's eyes. Why did he have to think about this now? Why couldn't his brain just turn the hell off for one night and let his heart fly the plane? It was a vindictive organ, that nervous tissue rattling around in his skull. There were so many good things it could be thinking about. The amazing meatloaf dinner Kyle cooked. Curled up on the couch binge-watching some comedy show Jimmy recommended. Not really paying attention. Karen back at her dorm. Stan not coming home until tomorrow. Kissing a blot of mashed potato off the corner of Kyle's mouth. Laughing, silly. Not laughing, serious. Moving. Falling. Kyle's fingers raking through his hair. Breathing. Drowning. Ceasing to exist. Existing everywhere. Looking into Kyle's eyes all he wanted.

His heart had grown so much the Grinch would be even greener with envy; his brain shrunk down to the darkest crevices of his mind to make up for it.

_Love him all you want, you're going to lose him one day. The universe will take him and spit you back out. Can't have him._

Kyle was a light sleeper. His head tipped to one side, cheek landing softly on his pillow, and then his eyes were awake. His hand twitched against Kenny's face, like Kyle didn't want it there but then changed his mind and left it. His dark eyes blinked into the darkness until his pupils dilated, adjusting to what little light they had. They locked on Kenny's eyes.

"Kenny?" he slurred, his voice and body weighted with sleep, his eyes wide awake.

"I'm here," Kenny said. As if he were comforting Kyle from waking out of a nightmare. As if _he_ were the one comforting _Kyle_. "I'm here," he repeated, his whisper even softer this time, barely a breath through his lips.

Kyle's thumb stroked his cheek once, twice. "Kenny," he mumbled against the pillow, his eyes already fluttering shut again. Kenny pressed his lips to his forehead, Kyle's curls tickling his nose, feeling Kyle sigh back into sleep against his throat.

"Kyle," he mumbled back.


	2. Chapter 2

The first day it was warm enough outside to walk to work, Jimmy did.

He had never thought that he’d miss the sound of his crutches clacking against the sidewalk, but after a long period of bedrest and recovery, he was glad to be outside on his own on this sunny April morning. On top of that, Jimmy was on his way to his favorite place. Most people weren’t as cheery about going to work in the morning, but the newsroom of Denver’s _Rocky Mountain Reporter_ was more Jimmy’s home than…well, his home. He got to spend his whole day, at least five days a week, with his closest friends, creating a respectable local paper that the community depended on for honest reporting. At twenty-three years of age, Jimmy had to admit, he was pretty content with his life.

This morning felt especially sweet after the insanity his group of friends had faced in the past eight months. The bullpen, as they called themselves—that is, the younger half of the _Reporter_ office, whose desks were all pushed together behind a row of cubicle walls—had grown the previous fall when Jimmy’s college friend Kyle joined the staff. At the time, Jimmy figured Kyle was bringing copyediting and fact-checking to the team, but what none of them realized was that Kyle was going to bring Denver’s own vigilante superhero, the immortal Mysterion, right to their front page. And no one could have been more surprised than Kyle when they discovered that the superhero who’d been like his guardian angel throughout dangerous reporting was in fact his roommate Kenny.

 _Boyfriend_ , Jimmy had to remind himself. Though, to be fair, it didn’t seem to him that much had changed between Kyle and Kenny before and after the relationship status update on social media. Kyle still fussed over Kenny constantly, and Kenny still spent more time than not draping himself affectionately over Kyle’s shoulders.

Jimmy hadn’t known Kenny too well, since he’d stayed in Kyle’s and his hometown while Kyle and their other roommate Stan went off to college in Denver. Even so, Jimmy was quite fond of him. Jimmy’s time spent bedridden was something Kenny had taken very seriously, considering Mysterion responsible. It wasn’t Kenny who’d sent a homemade bomb through the window of the _Reporter_ ’s office, though—it had been Eric Cartman, a foul-mouthed frenemy of Kenny’s and a wannabe vigilante in his own right.

Cartman and Kenny both had taken a step back from the superhero antics this year, though. Even if Jimmy hadn’t been there to see it, he’d heard the wild legend of New Year’s Eve. At the stroke of midnight, enormous monsters had attacked Denver, held off only by the ancient powers of prophecy. The chosen one who’d fought them? Craig, the quietest member of the bullpen, and what Kenny described as his “scary-as-shit eye lasers.”

“He would’ve died if it hadn’t been for us,” Cartman had said. “A little gratitude wouldn’t hurt, Cregg.” Jimmy was…still getting used to Cartman being around as often as he was. And to his peculiar accent.

“I would’ve died without Tweek,” Craig had replied without looking up from his phone. Tweek, another member of the bullpen and Craig’s boyfriend since college, then leaned against him, the most physical affection Jimmy had ever witnessed between them in all their years of friendship.

Following the almost-apocalypse, Denver had quieted down for the rest of the winter. Hibernating, Jimmy thought. The poor city was probably exhausted from its period of New York City-level superhero antics and was happy to be back to its usual self.

Jimmy inhaled deeply the crisp, clean air of Denver. March, true to the old adage, went out like a lamb, and springtime was right around the corner. Stan was in the midst of planning his wedding with his fiancée Wendy, a political science grad student currently in Boston; Tweek was down to two cups of coffee a day, which Clyde kept marked on a mini chalkboard at his desk; and, if Jimmy had overheard Victoria, the editor-in-chief of the _Reporter_ , correctly, the bullpen’s babysitter Token was up for a promotion.

This was a very, very good morning.

About a block from the office, Jimmy had to wait for the crosswalk light to change. Swaying with the breeze, he looked up, and directly across the street from him, he was faced with an open copy of the latest issue of the _Rocky Mountain Reporter_. A young woman on the other side of the crosswalk was reading their newspaper. Jimmy swelled with pride.

The walk light changed, and he ambled his way across the street, crutches clacking on the sidewalk. The woman never so much as looked up, a few people shuffling around her to cross the street. As Jimmy got closer, he was able to see her face over the paper: green eyes and impossibly dark lashes, tiny nose, dainty mouth, and a curtain of black hair curling just so around her face. She practically looked Photoshopped.

“Y-Yuh-you know, we appreciate your reading our p-p-puh-paper, very much,” Jimmy started. The woman looked up, blinking in the sunlight. Her eyes were even greener looking directly at her. “But b-be sure to read only wuh-when it’s safe.”

“What do you mean?” the girl asked. Jimmy smiled and gestured to a little old lady hobbling around them and muttering un-grandmotherly things about oblivious whippersnappers. The woman blinked her enormous eyes. “What do you mean about ‘our paper’?”

“Oh, of c-cuh-course! I work for the _Rocky Mountain Reporter_ ,” he said.

She stared at him, then tilted her head and smiled. “That sounds very interesting. How do you feel about that?”

“Well, I luh-like it very much.” Her smile widened. “V-vuh-very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! A very small update, the recap episode...more to come soon. :-) Many thanks to all of you awaiting the conclusion to this trilogy!


	3. Chapter 3

“Question,” Clyde said, holding up his phone. “Why does Eric Cartman have my phone number, and how do I opt out of his group texts?”

“Threaten him,” Craig intoned from across their desks.

“I wish I could say that had a hundred percent success rate, but it doesn’t,” Kyle said. He dragged his hands up his face, his fingers tangling into his hair.

“Follow-up question,” Token said, propping his chin up in his hand and tapping his index finger against his cheekbone. “Care to explain why these group chats are always labeled _Coon and Friends_?” He was also somehow on the receiving end of Cartman’s mass texts, and bigotry had never been high on Token’s list of acceptable traits.

The exasperation on Kyle’s face was worn, weathered agreement with that sentiment. “I don’t make an effort to understand the thought processes of Eric Cartman. I know that, when asked, he _claims_ his stupid dress-up name comes from raccoons, but…”

Even if Kyle didn’t finish his sentence, Token could finish it in his head. _But_ with the detestable slew of profanities and slurs Cartman managed to incorporate into every conversation Token had experienced with him, it was unlikely that he didn’t know the alternate meaning of his name.

“If it were Mysterion and Friends, I might do it,” Clyde said, wrinkling his nose down at his phone’s screen. He tapped away at it, deleting the newest meeting invitation. “Or if Craig started a Justice League, I guess. With his magic powers.” Craig’s expression didn’t change, but he held up both hands and wiggled his fingers at Clyde in what Token knew was a rare display of affection. Clyde snorted. “But this guy? No thanks.”

“I thought we were past the whole…vigilante thing,” Token said. Kyle took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his hands returning to his keyboard.

“Me, too,” he said.

Cartman had been quiet for a short period. A very short period, about five weeks from New Year’s Day. On Valentine’s Day night, the first Coon and Friends mass text had arrived. Kyle had ranted about it the next morning in the office and, probably accidentally, complained that it had interrupted his date, which Token might have found funny if he hadn’t been sour for the exact same reason. He’d been horrified when the rapid-fire trills of his phone—Cartman having a conversation with himself—had everyone in the restaurant turning to glare at their table. Nichole didn’t bat an eye right up until the point where Token, in the process of silencing his phone, happened to read the title of the chat. When she read it over his shoulder, she’d taken a ladylike sip of her champagne and asked if Token would like her to “un-friend” Cartman for him. The combined cliché of Valentine’s Day and how mortifying public proposals were just barely kept Token off of bended knee.

Since then, weekly texts clogged up Token’s phone. He’d consider reporting Cartman if Kyle and experience hadn’t made it perfectly clear that he knew his way through every loophole of the law.

“Why would we even form a superhero team?” Clyde asked. He dropped his phone into his pocket. “Only Kenny and Craig could actually do anything. What, are we all supposed to make dumb costumes and sit around the table making puns?” Pitching his voice up, Clyde pinched his nose for an extra-nasally effect and said, “Bzzz! Bzzz! I’m Mosquito, and I’m coming to suck your blood! It’s very convincing, because I’ve put ketchup around my mouth!”

Token snorted, immediately embarrassed at how funny he found the joke. “And I’m Tupperware,” he parried back. “I was in a lab accident, and they rebuilt me with plastic containers!”

“I don’t know about you,” Craig said to Kyle, “but I feel safer.”

“What’s safer?” Tweek asked, padding back over to his desk from the kitchen. In place of his usual coffee refill, he had a fancy water bottle that he’d refilled with water from the purifier Craig had set up on the faucet. Tweek settled into his seat between Craig and Kyle and set down his water bottle with a little _clink_ against his desk. Once that was put aside, he pushed his hair back behind his ears.

“Clyde and Token have volunteered for the front line the next time the apocalypse is nigh,” Craig said. Tweek shot him a look, and Craig’s statuesque expression turned apologetic so quickly Token almost laughed again.

“That’s not funny,” Tweek said, pulling his seat up to his desk and getting back to work. Silence fell over the bullpen.

It didn’t last long. A few minutes later, the elevator at the other end of the office swooshed open. Even against the carpeting, the sounds of Jimmy’s crutches were distinct. Clyde nearly bolted up out of his seat—to see if Jimmy needed anything to be carried, Token knew, though Jimmy had taken to using a backpack since returning to the office from his injury.

“Oh,” Clyde said, and Token looked up again. Jimmy was always smiling, but today that was an understatement. He was _beaming_.

“Hey, dude,” Kyle said, eyebrows raised. “You look pretty happy this morning.”

“Well, it’s a p-p-puh-pretty good morning,” Jimmy said, making his way around the bullpen to his desk across from Kyle’s. Five sets of eyes followed him. “Whu-whu-whaa…whu…what?” With a laugh, Jimmy nodded at Craig. “I can see you d-dying to add _‘Gangnam style,’_ Cuh-Craig.”

Where on earth that outdated reference had come from, Token couldn’t say, but Craig actually _grinned_ in response and crossed his wrists, bobbing his hands like in the music video. Would wonders never cease. Thankfully, Jimmy’s joke seemed to melt the ice off of Tweek, too, who shook his head fondly at Craig.

“Quit trying to change the subject.” Kyle laughed. “What is it, dude? You can tell us.”

Jimmy had finished unpacking his things and settled into his seat, his crutches propped against the cubicle wall at the end of his desk. “Wuh-well, fellas, I think I might have met a g-guh-girl.”

They all made the standard sound of pleasant, conversational surprise, with the exception of a little squawk from Clyde.

“Wait, dude, if you met a girl, who’s gonna be my wingman? I finally found someone who was good at it.” Clyde shot Craig a pointed look.

“When did I ever wingman for you?” Craig asked blankly.

“ _Exactly,_ ” Clyde said.

“So, Jimmy,” Token said loudly. “Where’d you meet a girl?”

Jimmy launched into one of his classic stories, mundane but peppered with joking asides. When he got to the part where he met a girl in the crosswalk, though, the side jokes disappeared from his storytelling.

“What’s her name?” Kyle asked.

“Leslie,” Jimmy said. The name came out in a reverent sigh. Token had to look away to hide his smile.

“That’s a nice name,” Kyle said lamely. To be fair, there weren’t many cool ways to follow up on that detail.

“So, you’re going to see her again?” Tweek asked.

“Y-Y-Yes. I asked her out for c-c-cahh…coffee this weekend.”

Tweek nodded, his fingers skittering to his water bottle.

The bullpen settled down into work, the unhurried tasks of Tuesday. Token answered e-mails. Clyde checked his social media every fifteen minutes, which was fine because Token could see the block of text in his word processor growing steadily longer. Tweek sipped his way through his water bottle; the soft _clink_ it made against his desk every time he replaced it became something of a metronome.

It was nearly lunchtime when Clyde let out an annoyed moan.

“It’s this guy again,” he said, taking out his ear buds. They all echoed his moan.

“Captain Hindsight?” Kyle asked, eyes narrowing.

Recently, one of Denver’s local news stations had picked up a new reporter from Minneapolis. With his slicked-back hair and camera-ready, all-teeth chortle—it could only _possibly_ be described as a ‘chortle,’ and a practiced one at that—the guy looked like the “before” of a supervillain lab accident before and after photoshoot. From his first day reporting, the guy had hogged all of Denver’s juiciest headlines, and his favorite activity was pointing out the obvious of what could have been done to avoid the problem in the first place. Token found him annoying but easily avoided, but Kyle had no patience for the guy, which had definitely influenced at least Clyde, and Jimmy was downright furious with his sensationalist style of journalism. Jimmy, furious!

They gathered around Clyde’s monitor and he removed his headphones from the USB drive so they could all watch the clip streaming on his social media.

“Fourteen people died in this fire. Fourteen!” Captain Hindsight yelped. Token glanced at his own computer screen where he was editing an article on the very incident. “You know, it’s really amazing that the fire department of Denver could let something like this happen…”

“He shouldn’t talk about the fire department like that,” Kyle said, crossing his arms. “They also _saved_ the rest of the people who survived, jackass!”

“Andthey’reputting the fire, mm, out,” Tweek added, gently nibbling on his index fingernail. “I mean…it’sawful that there’s a fire, but…the firefighters are tryingtohelp.”

“They _are_ helping,” Kyle corrected venomously, and Tweek stifled a distressed sound. The amateur footage of the blazing inferno was probably upsetting him; Token hadn’t heard him stumble and stutter through his words this much in a while. When he glanced over his shoulder, Token could see Craig hovering at Tweek’s side, one arm slung very casually around Tweek’s waist. He was shooting Kyle a warning look, though. Not that Kyle noticed that sort of thing when he was riled up about injustice.

“I’m surprised the station lets him say stuff like that,” Clyde added. “I get freedom of the press and all, but unless the fire department is, like…doing something bad, isn’t the news supposed to support them? Like, help broadcast their safety tips to people?”

“Don’t worry, Clyde,” Token said, giving his shoulder a gentle tap. “Our article doesn’t say anything bad about the firefighters.”

Captain Hindsight was rattling off how the buildings shouldn’t have been built so close together and how the roof couldn’t support a helicopter. Kyle crossed his arms, his fingers gripping into the sleeves of his button-down so hard his knuckles were turning white.

The anchorman seemed to be at odds with Hindsight’s prescriptions as well. “Well, Jack…what, what are officials saying right now?”

“They’re trying to keep him on track,” Token murmured.

“They shouldn’t ha-ahh…haahh…have to remind a rep-puh-porter to report the f-f-fffacts,” Jimmy said. The glow of meeting Leslie had all but disappeared from his face.

Hindsight reluctantly reported that the fire department had been able to contain the fire and now had the situation under control. He repeated twice more that fourteen people had died. “Nothing could be worse,” he said with all the subtlety of an aging Shakespearean actor.

Kyle and Jimmy both opened their mouths to offer a rebuttal to the monitor when the reporter continued.

“Today, a heroic effort may have been made, but it simply wasn’t enough.” He shook his head. “If only Denver had a hero who was here for the _people_.” The reporter’s smile was almost mocking. “No capes or masks here today, unfortunately. I’m Jack Brollin, reporting for Den—”

“Dude,” Clyde said. “Did. Did Captain Hindsight just…subtweet Mysterion?”

That was all the warning the bullpen had before Kyle blew up. Token buried his face in his hands, trying to tune out Kyle’s tirade of _how dare he_ and _who does he think he is_ and _I oughtta call the station and give him a piece of my mind_.

“Kyle, you’re, mm, you’re gettingreallyloud,” Tweek managed.

For a second, a split-second, Token thought Kyle was going to snap back with a sarcastic comment. One look at the lines of anxiety on Tweek’s face seemed to stay even Kyle’s fury, though; he swallowed and slowly uncrossed his arms.

“Sorry.”

“’S’okay.” Tweek’s shoulders hunched with his exhale. “Look, they’re on to something else…”

The news had returned to the anchor, who was overcompensating with jokes and likability. Token wondered how the ratings were doing. He bet about half the people who watched Jack Brollin reacted the way they did, with exasperation and annoyance, and half the people saw his coulda-shoulda-woulda act as the gospel truth. Maybe Jimmy had a point about the sorry state of sensationalist journalism.

“And in other news, strange happenings in the Gulf of Mexico lately. There have been reports of extreme weather, from record-breaking winds to torrential rains. Our local meteorologist—”

“Bo-ring,” Clyde said, closing out the window. “Blah-blah-blah, global warming, blah-blah…”

“Mmm,” Craig said. Normally Token wouldn’t count a hum as participation in a conversation, but Craig wasn’t one to participate. Token looked up over his shoulder again, but Craig’s attention was on Tweek. Maybe he’d imagined the hum. Probably. Craig really didn’t participate.


	4. Chapter 4

Out of habit, Kenny took a deep breath when he walked into the apartment, but of course there was no aroma of dinner cooking. He was the first one home. Kenny didn’t mind swapping shifts with the day mechanic every once in a while, but a lonely apartment was the trade-off.

Stan had been working harder than ever now that he was engaged, and Kenny had to admire his work ethic even though he missed having him around. If anybody understood the joy of getting paid overtime, it was Kenny. He wondered what Stan would use the money for. Not just the wedding day—Stan was a hopeless romantic, sure, but he still had a good head on his shoulders. A house, probably.

Kenny dropped his backpack and jacket on the floor out of the way of the door. Yeah. A house. Wendy would be graduating about this time next year, and they were tentatively figuring on getting married the following fall. A year and a half, then.

It wasn’t enough time.

Kenny flexed his fingers and winced when the joints popped. He hated being home alone. The McCormicks’ little shack in South Park might not have been anything fancy, but it was never quiet, at least. There were times when Kenny had wished his home were quiet—when his parents drank, when they fought, when Karen cried—but that was different. The quiet of this apartment made him restless. Stan was working, Kyle was working. It didn’t feel right to be home with nothing to do. Not with their time in this apartment, the three of them, ticking away.

His fingers twitched again, and Kenny realized that his hands were fidgeting on auto-pilot. That was how his fingers moved inside gloves to adjust his grip, how they’d twitch as he pushed his window up and fell out into the night.

The key turned in the lock behind him, and Kenny just barely had time to turn before Kyle was coming through the door. Kenny blinked. “You’re home early.”

Even though Kyle was the one coming in behind Kenny, he was the one who jumped. “Oh! Kenny, you’re—that’s right, you had a different shift.”

Before the door had fully clicked shut behind Kyle, Kenny was cupping his face in his hands and leaning in for a kiss or three. “Why are you home early?”

“It’s not that early.” A smile played at Kyle’s lips as he leaned slightly out of reach. “I think I just…power-walked home from the bus.”

Kenny let his hands drop. “What’s wrong?”

Kyle shot him a wry look that Kenny could read like a book: _I’m clearly trying to get past it, why are you like this?_

“The Captain doing overtime?” he guessed. Kyle groaned loudly, dropping his bag and jacket at the door.

“I don’t think you understand just how bad this guy is, Kenny. I mean, he is really full of himself, and he acts like he’s this gift to humanity because he can’t stick to a script.” Kyle huffed. “I mean, he must be causing so much grief for the network and the anchors, his cameraman…”

“Either that, or he’s generating buzz.” Kenny shrugged. “Someone somewhere is developing a drinking game for every time Cap says ‘Nothing could be worse!’” Kenny put on an over-the-top announcer voice to imitate that newscaster, and Kyle chuckled, shaking his head.

“What do you want for dinner?” he asked, leaving Kenny’s side to root through the kitchen cabinets. Kenny waited a moment, and sure enough, Kyle whirled around a second later, rage remembered. “You know he had something to say about Mysterion today?”

Kenny raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Well, not Mysterion specifically, but that was who he meant. He was talking about superheroes and capes, and how a real hero would’ve stopped that fire.” Kyle bristled, storming around the kitchen in search of pots and pans, ingredients. “He sounded like a moron, practically blaming a fire on the world’s lack of _superpowers_.” It took him a second to send Kenny an apologetic look. “I mean, I know that you really do—”

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

Truth be told, though, Kenny had been thinking about it a lot lately. His cowl. Vigilantism. Mysterion. When Kenny first donned the mask, it had been while running around South Park. Kyle and Stan were off to college and he didn’t have anything better to do with his time. He started by scaring his parents out of some of their worse habits, and when that proved successful, he moved on to small-time crime. Karen had him figured out in a week, but instead of deterring him, she sewed him a sweet costume. By the time he’d moved to Denver, he was certain his nights as a vigilante were over, but the city cried out to him for help. And then there was Kyle.

“Do you ever miss him?” Kenny asked. Kyle paused long enough in his dinner preparations to shoot Kenny a questioning look. “Mysterion.”

“Do I miss…you?” Kyle blinked, grabbing a towel hanging from the oven handle and wiping his hands.

“Not me. Mysterion. Do you ever miss him?”

The crease between Kyle’s eyebrows, a line Kenny recognized from far back into their childhood, deepened. “Kenny, what are you…?”

“I do.” Kenny crossed his arms on the edge of the counter across from Kyle and leaned his body weight forward. Kyle tossed the towel down to the counter by the sink.

“You mean you miss fighting crime?” Kyle’s voice had an edge to it.

“Mm…not exactly.” It was the power. Well. The ability to help people. Kenny’s eyelids fluttered; Kyle had called him on it to his face when he was Mysterion, right out there on their balcony. Saw through him completely: a boring, powerless person who took up the cowl to make a difference. In the most selfish, escapist way possible, but Kenny figured the ends justified the means. “But do _you_ miss him?”

“I don’t miss you throwing yourself headfirst into danger, if that’s what you’re asking. And I don’t miss ending up in the crossfire, either.”

Kenny’s stomach lurched. No, he definitely didn’t miss that. Getting Kyle involved in the danger of Mysterion’s work was by far the worst side-effect of pursuing justice. But the ability to help. To be great. To do something with his curse. It had to mean something, didn’t it? Being like this? Immortality couldn’t just be a cruel twist of fate. There had to be a purpose to it, and Mysterion was closer to discovering that truth than Kenny ever would be. Even if Mysterion didn’t have a single lead. He was still closer to the truth.

“But do you miss _him_?” he asked quietly. Kyle threw the mixing bowl in his hands down on the counter, slammed his hands down, and glared at Kenny.

“Kenny, what are you _talking_ about? It’s not like Mysterion is a different person, you know. If I don’t miss you, I don’t miss him.”

Kenny didn’t know how to ask it in a way that wouldn’t make Kyle madder. Do you miss the excitement of chasing the vigilante, taking risks for the story? Do you miss his voice in your ear? Do you ever worry that without Mysterion, you’ll lose interest? Wasn’t he the reason you saw me as something other than a friend?

Ah, no, that wasn’t why. That wasn’t why Kenny had taken up the mantle. Don’t make it about that.

What if there was someone out there right now crying out for help, but Mysterion had retired? Was it selfish to want to be out there for the people? Was it selfish to want to stay in here with Kyle?

They were stupid questions anyway. Only someone really insecure would ask them.

“Never mind. Just thinking about him lately.”

Kyle shook his head and turned back to his cooking. He’d probably had a stressful day. Kenny could appreciate that.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 4 and 5 are both new today, and chapter 6 should be finished soon...happy summer! :-)

Craig held up his camera so that Tweek could see the picture he’d just taken on the digital screen: stringy cirrus clouds wafting through a bright blue sky.

“Think this’ll work for the feature?” Craig asked. His voice was blank as ever, but Tweek knew an attempt to cheer him up when he heard it. It was a joke, of course; the feature was on global warming.

Jimmy was doing overtime on his earnest reporting to make up for Captain Hindsight, and Kyle was backing him up at every turn. Not only were the article assignments getting super intense, apparently a sign of more legitimate reporting, but every discussion was tainted with Jimmy’s and Kyle’s personal vendettas. Tweek’s fingers had been itching for the warm comfort of coffee for weeks.

“Ngh, global warming is serious, you know,” Tweek said, unable to help himself. Craig’s face fell—at least, as much as it could. Tweek sensed more than saw the drop in his shoulders. “Sorry,” he managed, meaning it.

“It’s okay.” Craig lowered his camera, letting it hang by the strap around his neck. He reached out for Tweek’s hand and squeezed it. Tweek squeezed back, as hard as he could.

“Do we have to go?” he asked, taking care not to whine even though he was already guilt-tripping Craig.

“I know,” Craig said, sympathy hiding in his cool countenance. “But yeah.”

Michael’s apartment was a few blocks from the tattoo parlor, within walking distance for sure, though every time Tweek and Craig passed the shop, its limited parking lot was taken up by its own employees’ black cars and scooters. The Goth Kids, Tweek had taken to calling them—at least in his head: Henrietta, Bradley Biggle’s sister, who always smiled meanly, as if she knew your worst secret; Pete, who liked coffee but only drank cheap instant brands; Firkle, a classmate of Ruby’s at college, whom she’d apparently slugged for calling Karen McCormick a “preppy conformist”; and Michael.

Tweek couldn’t stand Michael. He was always snooping around trying to see Craig’s “ink” and hinting at wanting to do more tattoos on someone so “hardcore.”

“You gotta do more than that lame little teapot,” he was always saying, spinning his tattooing needle between his index and middle fingers. Apparently he’d been the one to give Craig that tattoo, the only marking Craig had chosen for himself. It wasn’t a teapot. It was a coffeepot full of stars over Craig’s heart, a declaration in permanent ink. When Craig first showed it to him, Tweek had wanted to get the tattoo himself, but Michael’s looming over him with a needle and judgmental pursed lips had Tweek jumping from the chair.

“It’s not even a big tattoo, you wuss,” Michael had said. Tweek knew he was laughing at him behind that affected blank expression.

Craig’s middle finger had been up in a flash. “I get it,” he’d said to Tweek. “I wouldn’t want a self-righteous tool tattooing me, either.”

“Ugh, don’t be like that. If you’re skin’s that thin, you shouldn’t even be in a tattoo parlor.” But the insult hadn’t stopped Michael from trying to get back in Craig’s good graces, texting way too often and inviting Craig over for the Goth Kids’ band practices.

Which brought Tweek to today.

Why Craig wanted to go to these dumb practices was beyond Tweek. He still wasn’t even totally sure why Craig was friends with the Goth Kids, if it could be called friendship. But they always went, sat on the ratty and—what else?—black sofa in Michael’s dank little apartment, and listened to four grown adults who’d never taken a lesson in their lives murder their instruments and intone angsty poetry about oblivion. Craig said it was funny, but Tweek never felt so great after listening to it.

Michael had the door open practically before Craig had finished knocking, a sure sign he’d been waiting for him. He acknowledged Craig and ignored Tweek like always, then backed up into his apartment so that they could come in. Craig gave Tweek’s hand another squeeze as they headed for the couch. Henrietta and Firkle both gave them a quick nod of greeting, but Pete pointed his mic and Tweek accusingly, creating crackling feedback in the process. Tweek jumped.

“What’s your poison?’ Pete asked. It took Tweek a second to realize that Pete was pointing his mic at Tweek’s water bottle.

“Ngh! Water!” He didn’t mention the frozen raspberries he’d added. Like the Goth Kids needed any more ammo about how not-hardcore he was.

Pete sighed, letting his mic-holding hand drop. “Again? What are you, one of those clean-eating conformists now? Abandoning the perfect darkness of coffee for something so clear and meaningless.”

Tweek had no idea what Pete was talking about half the time, and this moment definitely fell into that half. Craig tugged Tweek over to the sofa and sat, and Tweek followed his lead.

The doctor had said one cup of coffee in the morning was all Tweek needed. That it was no wonder he experienced tremors and “heightened senses,” as she’d put it.

“Decrease your intake by a cup a week,” she’d suggested. “If you decrease gradually, your body will have an easier time adjusting.”

Well, he’d done it. It took weeks and willpower like Tweek had never known he’d possessed. The tremors had largely died down, but drinking less coffee couldn’t solve every problem. It didn’t stop their apartment building from creaking and settling in the night, didn’t make roads safer to cross or meat at new restaurants safer to eat. It was no salve to the sting of watching a couple that had been together only a few months pull lightyears ahead. Tweek was happy, and he knew Craig was happy, but. Sometimes he wondered if they could be happier.

“All right,” Michael said, slipping his bass over his head. “This one’s called ‘Darkness Eternal.’”

Tweek withheld a sigh; he was certain that the Goth Kids had at least four songs with the same title, and probably the same sound quality. Why did Craig want to hang out with these guys?

While Henrietta tapped out the tempo with her drumsticks, counting down to the song’s start, Tweek tried to focus on Craig’s warm palm against his.

“Darkness Eternal” only ended up being a two-minute song, mostly comprised of Henrietta’s angrily banging on her drums while Pete flipped his hair in front of the mic. When they’d finished, Tweek clapped out of obligation. He didn’t miss Michael’s eyes cutting to Craig for approval; Craig remained motionless.

“This next one is ‘Ode to the Dark Lord Cthulhu,’” Michael said. Pete pumped his fist in agreement, expression frozen in its typical perma-boredom.

“Who’s Cthulhu?” Craig asked. Michael’s hand slipped on the strings of his bass. Even Tweek started.

“The Dark Lord of Lovecraftian lore,” Henrietta said, arching one penciled-in eyebrow. “Don’t they teach you posers anything in school these days?

“Lovecraftian?” Craig echoed, rolling his shoulders back. The pops of Craig’s spine sent a chill up Tweek’s; Craig only cracked his back when he was nervous about something. It happened so infrequently that the pops were always like gunfire in Tweek’s ears.

“H.P. Lovecraft,” Tweek said, trying to ignore the thrill of watching Michael’s mouth snap shut, beaten to the punch. “He was a horror-fantasy writer who published short stories and stuff in the early twentieth century.”

“Oh. Okay.” Craig settled back into his seat.

“Are we done chatting? Firkle sniped, glaring up from his keyboard. “Darkness awaits.”

Henrietta smacked out a slower tempo with her drumsticks for the countdown. At the very moment she reached “One—,” the front door swung open.

“Henri!” Bradley chirped out, striding into the room in a fashionable pea coat. He was every bit as sunny and straight-toothed as Tweek remembered. Next to Tweek, Craig went very still.

“The hell are you doing here?” Henrietta spat at the same time Michael demanded, “How’d you get in?”

“I’ll answer you in reverse order,” Bradley said brightly. He held up a gold key, which Michael snatched away. “It’s Henri’s spare. I figured you’d be here.”

“Take a hike,” she said.

“And Mom wanted me to bring you home for dinner since Auntie is coming over. She said to tell you she’s making pork chops and baby carrots, your favorite.”

Tweek honestly couldn’t tell if Bradley was messing with his sister, but the complete upending of the Goth Kids’ image brought a laugh bubbling to his lips.

It was awful. Everyone’s attention was on him. Even Craig, his shield, stared hard at him. Tweek shrank under all of their eyes, gripping his water bottle to hold down a shiver.

“Hey,” Bradley said, face lighting with recognition. “You’re Kyle’s friends.”

“And you’re his ex.” Craig’s voice had dropped to a record low in temperature. Bradley’s eyes widened in shock at the cold response. A fleeting smile crossed Michael’s face, and Tweek squeezed Craig’s hand hard enough for his nails to dig into Craig’s knuckles. If it bothered Craig, he didn’t show it. “We’ve gotta get going anyway.”

Tweek had no problem jumping to his feet to follow Craig out of Michael’s apartment. He only lamented that he didn’t have time to shoot Michael a nasty look on his way out, though if Tweek were being perfectly honest, he probably didn’t have it in him to do that anyway.

Normally Craig’s tall, lanky frame was a protective source of comfort, but as the door shut behind them, Tweek was reminded that most of Craig’s height came from long legs. He was practically jogging to keep up. “Hey! Craig, mm, what’swith you?”

Craig slowed down mere feet from where they’d parked the car, but he didn’t answer. They got into their seats, Tweek sliding into the driver’s seat from the sidewalk, Craig rounding to the passenger’s side on the street, flipping off the driver who honked passing them. After the _thuds_ of shutting doors and _clicks_ of seatbelts fastened, Tweek let his keys sit in the ignition for a moment without turning them.

“You don’t like Bradley, do you?” he asked carefully.

“And you don’t like Michael,” Craig answered. His voice was almost back to normal, though Tweek was certain it thrummed with irritation still. Ever since New Year’s, he’d been hyper aware of the power that crackled beneath Craig’s surface.

“I don’t like Michael,” Tweek agreed.

“I don’t like Bradley,” Craig said, matching Tweek’s tone. The silence in their car softened to something more comfortable. Craig rested his forearm on the console armrest between their seats and turned his wrist, his palm facing the ceiling. Recognizing an offering when he saw one, Tweek slipped his hand into Craig’s.

“Why not?” Tweek asked.

“Kenny doesn’t bother him,” Craig said. At Tweek’s questioning look, he elaborated—something Tweek knew he wouldn’t have done for anyone else. “Kyle’s having a boyfriend doesn’t change how he treats Kyle. He doesn’t respect their relationship.”

“What, are you afraid he’s going to flirt with me, too?” It was a joke, of course. The idea was ludicrous. Bradley wasn’t even remotely Tweek’s type. When Craig looked out the passenger’s window in lieu of an answer, though, Tweek wasn’t sure if he felt more embarrassment or pleasure. “You think Bradley’s any competition for you?”

A little smile played on Craig’s lips, though he didn’t redirect his attention. “You think Michael’s any competition for _you_?”

This time, embarrassment won out. Tweek could feel his whole face burning. So Craig knew he was jealous. And didn’t say anything, the jerk. “In his eternally dark dreams, maybe.”

Craig barked a laugh and finally turned his smile to Tweek. _Why are you friends with the Goth Kids, anyway?_ The question was on Tweek’s lips, but the way Craig’s eyes crinkled stopped him from picking up the unpleasant topic. Another time. For now, he turned the ignition and pulled out into the street, heading home.


	6. Chapter 6

“I appre…pre…preee…appreciate your coming with me, Kuh-Kyle.”

“No problem, Jimmy.” Kyle shrugged his shoulder so that the computer bag slung over it bobbed up and down. “I’ve got some work to do, and where better to do it than a coffee shop?”

Lunch spent working wasn’t Kyle’s favorite thing to do, even on busy days, but he wasn’t about to let Jimmy down when the latter had asked for backup on his date. Kyle wondered if Jimmy were afraid of being stood up. It had happened a handful of times when they were in college, and Jimmy could be naïve, excitedly planning dates and graciously accepting excuses. After it happened twice, Kyle started tagging along, sitting in tables next to or behind Jimmy so that, if the girl were a no-show, Jimmy could just happen to notice his friend and hang out with him instead.

Kyle went in first, got in line, got himself a cup of tea, and camped out at a two-person table in the corner of the coffee shop, back-to-back with another empty two-person table. Jimmy came in a few minutes later and ambled right to the empty table, never one to order before his company arrived.

Kyle didn’t have time to worry. He’d barely copyedited ten lines before he heard Jimmy push his seat back and stand, a sure sign that his date had arrived. Using a sip of tea as his disguise for moving, Kyle sneaked a glance at the woman making her way to Jimmy’s table.

He nearly choked on his drink. Jimmy hadn’t been kidding when he said she was beautiful. Leslie had long dark hair that curled at the ends and bright green eyes. Her smile widened as she got closer, and she lifted one hand to wave to Jimmy. “Hi,” she said, voice clear as a bell.

“Leslie, hi!”

Jimmy and Leslie went to the counter for coffees and sandwiches. Kyle kept an eye on them until they were back at their table chatting; it was obvious enough to him that the date was going well, so he turned back to his computer. Subtlety was an art. He’d wait a few minutes, finish his tea, and then leave. Didn’t want to make it look like Jimmy and Leslie sat down so he got up; too obvious.

He was just packing up his bag when a snippet of their conversation snagged his attention. “There hasn’t been much news on Mysterion this year,” Leslie said. “Six months ago, the _Rocky Mountain Reporter_ seemed really on top of his activity. Are you no longer covering him?”

“If there were activity to report, w-we’d be on it,” Jimmy said cheerfully. Kyle casually set his bag back down and took another sip of tea. “Mysterion either d-duh-doesn’t want to draw attention to himself, or he’s ret-tuh-tired.”

“That’s interesting. What do you think happened to him?”

Kyle traced the edge of the cardboard cupholder around his cup of tea. The Harbucks mermaid stared back at him.

“I think Mysterion accomplished what he set out to do. He raised awareness regarding c-cahh…caah…” Kyle bit his lip, listening to Jimmy stutter a little longer before managing, “Crime in Denver. So he was able to move on.”

“That’s an interesting take on it,” Leslie said, as if Jimmy had given her the exact answer she was hoping for. Kyle’s fingers stopped twitching against his cup, and he smiled. “And what about those giant monsters on New Year’s? Do you think Mysterion was there?”

“I d-duh-do,” Jimmy said, “but I think that incident required a very different t-type of superhero int-t-tuh-tervention.”

“That’s a good point. Lots of people have searched the web for info on those monsters, but it seems like only Denver had to deal with them. Some people even think it was a mass Photoshop prank to up tourism!” Leslie’s laugh floated like bubbles being blown in the summertime. “What do you think about that?”

“Well, I can see why people wouldn’t b-buh-believe it! But I don’t know what would make them think D-Denver’s idea of an enticing vacation is playing the role of the city in a G-Guh-Godzilla movie.”

Leslie squealed with laughter, and Kyle finished packing up his bag to head out. Invested in current events and a willing audience for Jimmy’s comedy—this girl was something special. He was glad for his friend. Jimmy really seemed to have found a good match for himself.

Kyle still had half his lunch hour, so he went for a walk and enjoyed the spring weather. This past winter had seemed pretty endless, so it was almost a relief to see the trees budding at last. Another month or two and there would be flowers. Kyle wondered if he’d get assigned to the spring flower show. The fall flower show had been quite a spectacle, especially after Cartman set it on fire. At least Mysterion had been there to save the day.

Mysterion. Kenny had brought him up recently and gotten all weird about him. Kyle honestly couldn’t tell what was going on in Kenny’s head sometimes; he could be so secretive, and the guy was a master at changing the subject. It hardly seemed fair, considering Kenny could read Kyle like a book. Anytime Kyle wanted to keep a secret, Kenny had him figured out in record time, but when the shoe was on the other foot, Kyle wouldn’t even know there was a secret to be uncovered. He needed to get better at that.

 _Do you miss him?_ The thing is, the more Kyle thought about Kenny’s bizarre question, the more he understood it. Mysterion wasn’t a different person, but he was a different side of Kenny. Anger and darkness that Kyle never would have thought Kenny capable of possessing. Dangerous, violent. Maybe even cold. In spite of the fact that Kyle had once grabbed Mysterion by the cape and kissed him on their apartment balcony, he couldn’t bring himself to call Mysterion a warm, romantic persona. Not the way Kenny was.

But did he miss Mysterion? It was hard to say. The danger, the threats, and especially now that he knew it was Kenny under the mask—no, there was no love lost there. But. Maybe it was a little sad knowing that the most exciting thing that would happen at this spring flower show was the awarding of Best Roses, or whatever the categories were.

When Kyle made it back to his office, he called the elevator and watched as it descended from the _Rocky Mountain Reporter_ ’s floor. He wondered which of his coworkers he’d pass going in and out for lunch. Token maybe, on his way downtown to meet with his girlfriend? Kyle still couldn’t believe he knew a guy who was dating one of the Denver Nuggets dancers. Or maybe Clyde, whose “A salad and a frappe for lunch even out in the end” logic was pretty solid. Nah, more than likely it would be P.C. or Adler. Kyle always forgot there were other adults in the office besides the bullpen.

When the elevator doors opened, though, Kyle found himself face-to-face with Bradley Biggle.

“Ah, Kyle!” Bradley smiled, and Kyle fought the urge to scowl. “I was hoping I’d see you.”

Why couldn’t they just be friends and be cool? Why did he have to be like this? “Hi, Bradley.”

“Listen, do you have a minute to talk?” Bradley tilted his head and spread his arms. An honest, open book, as always.

“My lunch break is over.”

“I know you don’t _want_ to talk to me,” Bradley said, stepping out of the elevator, his expression shifting into solemnity. The look was so uncharacteristic that Kyle paused, and the elevator doors shut before he could get on. “But I think we should, before this whole working-in-the-same-office thing gets too awkward.”

They went back out into the springtime sun, which did little to raise Kyle’s spirits, and agreed to a walk around the block. One thing Bradley was good for was getting to the point, at least.

“I don’t want it to be weird between us,” he said. “You’ve got a boyfriend, I know that. And I’m happy for you.” Kyle gave him a sideways look and he smiled charmingly. “Mostly.”

Kyle couldn’t help snorting at the joke and instantly regretted it, but Bradley soldiered on.

“I also know that high school couples don’t usually stick together, and people grow up and grow apart, and all that common sense. What I don’t know is why you’re so…horrified to see me. And why your coworkers hate me.”

“They don’t hate you,” Kyle said quickly.

“Yeah, okay. Like that freakishly tall guy isn’t trying to make ‘if looks could kill’ a reality.”

“Craig doesn’t like anybody,” Kyle said, which wasn’t true in the least. Craig was a good listener and a faithful protector when he chose to be, and he’d made it perfectly clear that the bullpen was his family and would be treated as such. When Bradley gave him a wry look, he added, “Except Tweek.”

“Who also hates me but feels sorry about it, I think. I saw them the other day at my sister’s friend’s place. Small world, huh?” Kyle tried to conjure an image of Bradley’s sister in his memory, but to be honest, he’d forgotten Bradley had a sister at all. “And Clyde glares at me from the minute I walk in ‘til the minute I leave.”

Kyle sighed heavily. Bradley slipped his hands into his pockets as they ambled around another corner.

“I guess…I mean, whatever I did to hurt you, I’m really sorry, Kyle. I didn’t mean it.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Kyle snapped. Bradley’s shoulders hunched. “Well. No, I mean…ugh, I wish you wouldn’t just apologize. You don’t even know what you did. Toughen up.”

Bradley looked at his shoes. “Do you have to be so hard on me?” There was a smile somewhere in his voice.

“Can you just be cool for a change? I think it freaked my coworkers out when you first came in, because they all know Kenny, and they all _like_ Kenny. They don’t want you to screw anything up.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Bradley mumbled.

“So…so don’t be so eager to talk to me, then. Just say ‘hi, how are you’ like a normal person.” Kyle raked a hand through his hair. “I’ll talk to them, though. You shouldn’t have to deal with a hostile work environment.”

They’d made their way around the block, and Kyle wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse seeing his office coming up. Bradley stopped just outside the door.

“Was there ever a chance?” he asked slowly. Kyle looked at him, met his gaze head-on and held it.

Sure, there’d been a chance. They went out on a few dates, their conversations were nice, their personalities were compatible. But that was before Kenny. Or maybe that was the start of Kenny, that first kiss in the stairwell that was fireworks where Bradley fizzled. Or maybe it had been Kenny all along, and Bradley was a tall, blond substitute his brain subconsciously latched onto.

“No,” Kyle said. “No, there wasn't a chance.”

Bradley nodded once, a tilt of gravity that carried finality with it. “Okay,” he said. “Well, if you ever need a friend, you’ve got me. I mean it this time.”

Kyle’s sigh this time was softer, slower. He didn’t think Bradley even noticed it. “Goodbye, Bradley.”

“Bye, Kyle.”

Kyle didn’t wait for him to leave, didn’t watch to see what he’d do next. He turned on his heel and went back into the building, fifteen minutes past his lunch hour and calling the elevator.


	7. Chapter 7

“Okay, we’re really going to eat it this time,” Tweek said, putting a bag each of kale and spinach into their cart.

“If you say so,” Craig said. It was the third time Tweek had bought the ingredients for some recipe Kyle gave him, but the closest they’d gotten to actually eating any of it was when the last batch of kale went bad and Tweek sautéed a whole bag of spinach before it met a similar fate. They’d ended up throwing half of that out, too, just because of the sheer volume.

Tweek shot him a look, and Craig pressed his lips together to stop his smile. If Tweek ever did make the green turnover abomination, he’d eat it. Until then, frozen nuggets, canned green beans, and store-brand rice in the rice cooker would get them by.

They made their way up and down another few aisles, Craig pushing the carriage while Tweek plucked groceries off the shelves and studied his list. Craig knew their usual list backwards and forwards, and Tweek seemed to be sticking to it today. No extra snacks, just extra green things. Craig sighed.

“Don’t start with me, Craig,” Tweek said without looking over his shoulder. “If you’re not going to take care of yourself, I will.” Craig almost retorted, but. Well. He didn’t exactly mind the thought of Tweek wanting to take care of him. Besides that, if he wasn’t mistaken, Tweek’s sudden bossiness hinted at a long-dormant supernova still crackling beneath the surface.

When they turned into the coffee aisle, Tweek came to a grinding halt. Craig had to stop short to keep the carriage from bumping into him from behind.

“What is it?” No sooner were the words out of his mouth that Craig looked up and realized why Tweek had stopped. At the opposite end of the aisle, perusing instant coffee brands, was Henrietta. Tweek let out a discouraged huff of breath, but Craig knew that there was no way they were skipping this aisle. Decreased intake or not, Tweek wasn’t giving up coffee.

Henrietta spotted them before either he or Tweek could make a move. In a second, she was standing right in front of them, stuffing instant coffee into the shopping basket hooked over her arm.

“Fancy running into you here, Tuckers,” she said. Tweek stifled one of his little frantic noises, and Craig frowned. “Returning to coffee? Pete’ll be relieved.”

“I never left coffee,” Tweek said, bristling. “And I don’t care what Pete thinks.” Craig swallowed. Tweek was kind of riled up tonight. It had been a while since Craig had seen him like this.

Henrietta gave Tweek a weird look. “I’m sure his heart’ll be broken, blondie,” she deadpanned. “So, Tucker, you coming to our next practice?”

“We’re busy,” Tweek said.

Again, Henrietta gave him a look, then raised her eyebrow at Craig, as if they were the ones on the same side and Tweek the outsider. “You don’t even know when it is yet.”

The slightest of tremors ran through Tweek. Craig lifted one shoulder indifferently. “We’re busy.”

Henrietta scoffed, but when Tweek sidestepped her on his way to the coffee further down the aisle, Craig could see him smiling.

“C-C-Cuh-Craig!”

Another carriage rounded the corner from the next aisle over, and Craig looked up in time to see Jimmy bracing his hands against the handlebar, a girl walking beside him.

“Jimmy,” he replied. Tweek wandered back over with a bag of coffee in his hands. He smiled in greeting.

“Fuh-fancy running into you here.” Jimmy lifted his shoulder on the side the girl stood. “This is Leslie.”

“It’s nice to meet you guys,” Leslie said. “I’ve heard so much about you!”

A second of eye contact was all it took for Craig to know he and Tweek were thinking the same thing: _We’ve hardly heard anything about_ you.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Tweek said for both of them. When Craig glanced over, he noticed that Henrietta was still standing next to Tweek, and she’d gone very still.

“Leslie?” she asked, voice wavering.

“Henrietta!” Leslie said, her smile not quite matching the excitement in her voice. “What a small world. Don’t you think?”

“I’ve gotta go,” Henrietta said brusquely, elbowing her way past Craig.

Jimmy hardly seemed to notice. “We both had to run a few errands, so we thought we'd go together,” he was telling Tweek.

“Funny coincidence,” Tweek murmured back. Craig felt his cell phone buzz in his pocket and ignored it. Tweek was right here with him, and it wasn’t the ringtone he set for the bullpen or his family. Probably a telemarketer.

They wandered up and down the next few aisles with Jimmy, who rattled off lots of jokes, and Leslie, who laughed at all of them and then rattled off lots of questions. This girl never shut up or let up. Every answer was met with five more questions. Couldn’t she just shop quietly like everybody else? Tweek’s bossy fire flickered under her barrage of _what do you think about this_ and _why do you feel that_.

"Um--ah--wellIdon'tknow--"

Craig cracked his neck.

Halfway through the store, Jimmy had all he needed. Leslie hadn’t picked up a thing. Craig waved half-heartedly as they headed for the cashiers up front, then pushed his carriage after Tweek down the rest of the aisles. Tweek hesitated at the mouth of the snack aisle but eventually passed it, on to soups and canned vegetables. Craig watched him pile too many cans of green beans into their cart.

“Everything okay?” he murmured into Tweek’s soft tangle of curls at the deli. Tweek shifted against him and sighed.

“Yeah,” he said. Fire totally extinguished.

They checked out, piled their groceries into the back of their car, and fastened their seatbelts. It wasn’t until Tweek slipped his hand around the back of Craig’s headrest and looked over his shoulder to back out of his space that Craig took out his phone to check the text waiting for him. Henrietta.

_Listen, Tucker, stay away from that Leslie. She’s bad news._

Craig stilled. First of all, he’d never known Henrietta to conform to proper punctuation. Second of all, “bad news”? The hell did that mean?

“Somebody call?” Tweek guessed, signaling and pulling out of the parking lot.

“Henrietta,” Craig said. He paused, his eye on Tweek’s trembling fingers tightening around the steering wheel. “So, we’re too busy for band practice. What are we too busy doing?”

Tweek smiled, the very edge of his lips quirking just so. Craig eased back in his seat. “We’re busy eating this spinach turnover Kyle told me about.”

"As an appetizer before meat lovers' pizza and/or fried chicken?"

Snorting, Tweek shook his head. At the red light, he flashed Craig a wry look. "What would you do without me?" he drawled. There was definitely a spark again, the whisper of a challenge, a hint of fire rescued from the wrath of a bucket of ice-cold water.

"Die, probably," Craig said.


End file.
